


for which no words exist

by folkinround, Holmes



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkinround/pseuds/folkinround, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holmes/pseuds/Holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired." -- Richard Siken, You Are Jeff</p><p>Things are bad, then they get good, and then bad again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for which no words exist

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the same Richard Siken poem.

Ian was mad.

There was hurt and disgust too, but mainly anger. He went to the empty lot where he usually practiced and exercised. It’s also one of their meeting places, but that’s not what is in Ian’s mind while he’s there, kicking and punching things to relieve his anger and stress. All he can picture is Terry Milkovich and that Russian whore with Mickey.

He tried not to picture Mickey’s face, the look he was giving him a moment before throwing the woman down and pounding into her. He felt sick to his stomach and kept on, groaning, grunting, kicking, and punching until he was red faced and knuckle bruised.

Mickey didn’t have much trouble at all trying to find Ian there.

He stood there and watched Ian for a moment, let him trash the place a bit before jumping to his feet and announcing his entrance.

“Jesus, Gallagher,” he said, holding Ian back by grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

He was bruised and battered from his father. Ian knew not all of the bruises were from that morning upon the first look. There were some even _fresher_ ones.

He pulled himself away from Mickey’s grip and slid down to a sitting position, back against a wood structure he didn’t smash to pieces. He drew his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes, panting, head tilted back.

Of all the fucking things in his life, it was a goddamn joke that Ian Gallagher was one of the few things that scared Mickey. Not the boy himself, no. But _something_ about Ian Gallagher made his heart tighten in a way it never had before. Made him angry and hungry and so fucking scared. Scared of what people might think, what his boys might say... However, his fuck of a father would bash his head into the front steps before he had time to worry too much about it. So Mickey was afraid of Ian Gallagher. Of what he made him feel, and the clear punishment that awaited him if he ever so much as held his hand at the wrong time.

But the wrong time had already happened.

Fucks sake, he was lucky he got out of the house alive. Never before had an orgasm felt so fuckin' shitty, coupled along with pain too immense to reflect on for too long. It wasn’t even the beating that followed that was the worst part.

He'd never forget the look on Ian's face, the way he refused to meet his eyes.

"C'mon Gallagher," he said, hitting the boy's shoulder. His expression was flickers of concern between aloof glances around the lot, cautious of onlookers. "Stop being such a bitch and get the fuck up." He paused, concern lingering just a bit too long. "You hurt?"

Ian moved away from him a little as he touched him again, but he did get up, shaking his head. "No," he said, looking away as he brushed dirt off his pants.

He was surprised that Mickey was there, was almost starting to believe he didn't want him to when he showed up, but Goddammit, wasn't it a comfort. He'd be lying if he said he didn't think Mickey was going to disappear, lay low for a while, go back to prison.

Knowing Mickey, it almost hurt to hope that he wouldn’t.

Mickey huffed as Ian stood, straightening himself, putting some distance between them. "Well don't look so fuckin' surprised," he remarked. He brushed at the corner of his lips with his thumb, eyes oscillating around the lot before coming back to Ian, gaze lowered.

"Look, all that back there with the Russian bitch..." he began awkwardly. Suddenly he didn't know what to say, didn't know how to end his sentence. _Sorry? Get over it? Let's go fuck?_ What the hell would fix this? He was having such a good time before his fuck of a father... Fucking Gallagher. Made him stumble all over his goddamn words. He couldn't get anything out, and eventually just shook his head awkwardly.

Ian's eyes stopped on Mickey briefly, but then looked away again. He shifted from foot to foot, turning around a little, then back.

He shook his head as well.

"I don't care, Mickey," he said, and it wasn't accusatory or even angry, but dismissive. Hurt, too. He knew it hadn't been Mickey's fault, that he could do nothing about it but what he did. He didn't want to be dead, or see Mickey die in front of him, either. "Fucking drop it," he added, voice a tad lower, and shook his head.

"Alright," Mickey said carefully, looking up at Ian at that. "Good." He paused again. Fuck, he wanted to touch the man. To say more.

A moment of silence stretched between them before he spoke again. "Hey, you think I could crash at your place tonight?" he asked, voice quieter. "I didn't exactly leave the house on the best fucking note."

Ian looked at Mickey again, eyes lingering for a second longer this time. "Yeah," he said, voice somewhat softer. He had to be back at the group home for count, but he could easily sneak out again and go back. He fished his pockets for a cigarette and held it between his lips, searching for his lighter. He looked at Mickey again as he lit his cigarette. "Wouldn't you better go home?" he asked quietly.

"You fucking kidding me?" Mickey smiled humorlessly, giving an almost-mocking laugh. "I'm lucky I got out of the house alive. Terry's gonna kill some bastard tonight and I don't know about you, Gallagher, but it sure as fuck isn't gonna be me." He pushed past the man, taking his first few steps in the direction of Ian's place, then paused. His hard face softened a bit, and he turned to face his...whatever the fuck Ian was. "You comin'?"

Ian watched Mickey as he brushed past him, feeling almost disappointed to see him walk away, even if he was just heading back to his house. Damn, he wanted to touch him. To kiss him, just a little. Right there where no one could see them. His eyes met Mickey's when he turned, held his gaze for a second or two, then were directed back down. "Going to Linda's to get my papers signed," he said. "Then I have somewhere else to be before home." And that hurt too. There wasn't anything he'd rather do than stay with him.

“Somewhere else to be?” Mickey huffed. “You’re fuckin’ busy, Gallagher. Sure you’ll be able to make it home tonight?” His voice ended on a heavily sarcastic note, slightly hurt even. He turned to spit, the saliva redder than usual but that was normal considering the fucking awful taste of blood in his mouth. The fuck did Ian have to do? After what they’d just been through you’d think he’d be content to go home and drink until they were both stupid. “Where the fuck you gotta be?” he finally snapped.

Ian huffed, running a hand through his short hair. That was what he hated the most, this attitude that Mickey had towards him sometimes. “I have a fucking life too, Mickey,” he said.

Mickey stopped in his tracks, turning to face Ian. He gave the boy an appraising look. “Alright, well what do you want, a golden fucking star?” he snapped. He shook his head, taking a small step toward Ian. He blinked around the lot again, his eye starting to swell shut slightly. “Look, I’m sorry,” he said, voice as gentle as Mickey was capable of. He grabbed Ian’s hand, glancing at his bleeding and bruised knuckles with a frown. “I didn’t want any of that shit back there.” He squeezed the boy’s hand lightly before releasing it, frowning. “I had a great time before, yeah? Let’s finish what we started sometime.”

Ian sighed, dropping his head down a little and closing his eyes. He felt his body lighting up and warming slightly as Mickey touched him, starting from where his rough fingers held his hand. He blinked and licked his lips. “You can sneak in through the back door,” he said. “After I get back, if you want.”

Mickey smiled at that—a crooked, playful smile. “You know my style, Carrot Top,” he said, licking his lips, pretending he didn’t taste blood. “I’d much rather have you goin’ through my own back door.”

 

~

 

Their bloodied faces attracted many stares on the way to the store, and Mickey had no problem making a threatening lunge or a rude gesture in their direction, coupled along with a _fuck you lookin' at?!_ or a _keep walking, dickhole--nothin' to see here_. They walked in easy silence, passing a cigarette back and forth, the smoke warming them both. Finally they arrived at the Kash n'Grab, and Mickey scratched at the back of his ear. "So when you getting back home from the fuckin' party or wherever you're going?" he muttered. He paused, a cautious flicker of empathy on his face. "Just be sure to clean yourself up in the back room. You look like shit."

They took the turn and got to the store through the back. Ian stubbed the cigarette out and shrugged. “A little after ten,” he said and shrugged again. “You don’t look too good yourself, either, you know,” he added.

“Fuck off,” Mickey replied easily. “You got running water at your place, right? I don’t got no fuckin’ place to be.” He glanced over Ian’s shoulder before nodding his chin toward the shop behind him, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “Unless maybe you wanna clean up together before you go find Linda,” he said with a calculated casualness. His mouth cracked into a grin at that, and he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Ian couldn’t help but smile at that, looking down and directing his gaze to Mickey slowly, lifting his eyes to meet his. “Fuck Linda,” he decided. “Let’s go, we can wash up at my place.”

At that, excitement boiled in Mickey’s stomach, and he knew no other way of expressing it than to give Ian a playful punch in the gut, following it with another. What a shitty fucking day he’d had. It seemed impossible that he felt so light right now. “Alright,” he grinned, slapping Ian on the arm before finally drawing away. “Let’s go, then, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled again at Mickey. He was already beginning to recognize his sings and what they meant; excitement, anger, stress, hurt.

Playful hitting was a good sign, he knew.

 

~

 

They made their way to Ian's in comfortable silence, walking side by side, bumping against each other every now and then. The house was (thankfully) empty by the time they got there. No Fiona or Jimmy, no kids. He felt his body relax immediately as he walked into the familiar environment. He threw his jacket on the back of a chair and ran a hand through his hair. "Make yourself home," he said.

Mickey ran his hand through his hair as he walked through the house, making his way back toward the kitchen. "Where is everyone?" he asked. "I thought there was fucking twelve kids or something living in this place." He opened up the fridge, taking out a beer and twisting the top off easily, connecting the bottle with his lips and tilting his head back. He pulled another out before closing up the fridge, offering it wordlessly to Ian.

Ian took the beer from Mickey and closed his eyes, shaking his head briefly before taking a swig. "Some douche called social security on us," he said with a shrug. "We have the place to ourselves until my sister gets back."

Mickey shrugged his shoulders in a small gesture. He didn't quite give a fuck that the Gallagher kids were gone--in fact, it was pretty fucking convenient, given that they could be alone here. But he knew Ian probably wouldn't view the situation as _lucky_ by any stretch, so he kept his damn mouth shut, taking another sip of his beer. "Bathroom upstairs?" he suggested, nodding toward the staircase. He turned and began to lead the way.

"Yeah," Ian said, taking another sip from his beer and following Mickey upstairs. "You wanna go first? You're in worse shape than me."

"Fuck you, Gallagher," Mickey said under his breath, brow slightly furrowed. He took another few gulps of beer. "It wasn't exactly _easy_ getting outta my house, alright?" As they reached the landing, Mickey quickly spotted the bathroom, grabbing Ian's hand and leading the boy along with him. "We can clean up together," he said flatly.

Ian followed easily, kicking the bathroom door closed and actually locking it for once. It had been enough to be walked in on once that day, he decided. "I didn't mean it as an offense," he said, starting to take his clothes off.

Mickey brushed the bottom of his nose with his thumb, shifting from foot to foot and letting go of the slight burn of anger he felt at Ian's remark. "Alright," he finally said, watching him as he undressed. He set his beer down on the edge of the sink, taking his shirt off gingerly. Beneath it, there were plenty of cuts and bruises, but he tried not to think about it, about the weakness it conveyed, reminding himself that Ian had them too. He threw down the toilet cover and seated himself, looking up at Ian a bit reluctantly. "Before we get started," he began awkwardly. "Could you do me a favor and, uh..." He gestured with a vague finger toward the back of his neck. "Help me get some glass out? I brushed it away but I think there's still a couple fucking pieces back there. Hurts like a bitch." He bent his head forward in a decidedly submissive gesture, exposing the back of his head. His dark hair was made darker by a patch of sticky blood, cuts apparent beneath.

Ian kneeled down next to Mickey, a hand on his knee as he leaned in to examine the extent of the damage. "Did he smash a bottle on you?" he asked, stretching backwards to get a few supplies. With a pair of tweezers, he started pulling a few bits of glass out, putting them on the sink. He then cleaned the cuts, licking his lips, eyes focused. When he finished, he tilted Mickey's head up gently and lifted a hand to clean the cuts on his face. His fingers were careful, gentle and expert as they touched Mickey's face. Ian stared at him from up close, holding his gaze for a few seconds. _I'm sorry_ , he thought. _I'm sorry you're like this because of me._

Mickey bit back the pain, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists as Ian cleaned him up. "It's no big deal," he said, brushing it all off. "I'm just glad it was a bottle and not the fucking gun." He straightened himself, taking his beer again and downing the rest of it, hoping it'd help the all-over sting of his freshly-cleaned wounds. It was odd, having someone _caring_ for him for once. It made him feel a different sort of warmth inside, and he stood slowly, pressing Ian down to a sit. "What about you though, huh?" he said quietly. "I don't look like the only one who's gonna be sore tomorrow."

Ian shrugged. "I'm already sore now," he admitted with a weak chuckle. "How worse can it be?"

Mickey gave a little smirk, eyes traveling down Ian's (slightly bruised) chest, not bothering to hide his lust. "Why don't you give me your best tonight, Red, and we'll see how much worse it can get," he teased. Grabbing a nearby washcloth, Mickey began to clean Ian up, wiping away blood and rinsing out cuts.

Ian laughed. "Says the guy who asked me to go easy this morning," he teased, punching Mickey's thigh lightly. He pulled himself to his feet and rolled his shoulders, brushing past Mickey to turn on the water, hoping it was still hot.

Mickey gave a little smile, watching a bit warily as Ian turned on the faucet, making it as hot as it'd go. "Fuck, Ian," he remarked. "Not too hot, alright? I don't want third-degree burns to go along with all this mess." He unbuckled his belt, pushing his jeans to the floor along with his boxers. He licked his lips, giving Ian a suggestive look. _You gonna strip too or what?_ He pulled aside the curtain and stuck a leg into the shower, stepping in and hissing as the water touched his battered skin. "Fuck!" he snapped. "Fuck cock _shit_!" He immediately recoiled from the spray, pointing a finger toward one of the bloodied washcloths Ian used to clean him up. "Hand that to me, yeah?" he said. No matter what the temperature, his cuts weren't happy with the spray of the shower. "Looks like I'm taking a fuckin' sponge bath."

Ian bit his lip, concern touching his face as he watched Mickey's face. Still in his boxers, he bent down to retrieve a washcloth and handed it back to Mickey. He then pulled down his boxers and walked up to join him.

Mickey didn't think anything of it. He took the cloth and stayed at the edge of the shower, cleaning himself carefully so as not to scrub any tender spots too much. "Mmm, you know I kinda like your ass all beat up like this," he noted with a grin as Ian joined him. "Looking pretty sexy all beat up like this, Carrot Top."

Ian shook his head, closing his eyes as he stood under the spray. The water wasn't half as hot as he expected, but it felt good to wash off anyway. "Fuck you," he breathed, rubbing his eyes and stepping out. He closed in on Mickey slowly, eyes on him. "Need any help there?"

"Fuck off, Ian, I'm not your grandma, alright?" Mickey snapped. He stepped out on his own, grabbing a too-small towel off the rack and using it to dry his hair quickly. He really did feel better having cleaned up a bit, and he gave a mischievous smile as he twisted his towel slowly. He unleashed it, snapping it at Ian's ass. "C'mon, Gallagher," he grinned. "Your room. Let's go."

Ian smiled, like he did every time he faced the prospect of sex with Mickey. He dried off quickly and left the towel (along with his forgotten beer bottle) in the bathroom, following Mickey to the bedroom.

Mickey grinned wide over his shoulder at Ian as they stepped into the bedroom at long last, clean and--yes--fucking _alone_. _Safe_ , even. "Let's finish what we started," he hummed. He bent over the bed, bracing himself, ready and aching to feel Ian's soft touch on his hips, reacquaint with his smug, sweet way before he gave it to him good. He licked his lips, almost longing for the kind-hearted side of Ian right now. It seemed like bullshit even to him, but Mickey couldn't help but ache for what made Ian distinct--a touch that Mickey didn't dare recognize as loving. Yet through his denial, he still wanted it. "Go gentle though, alright?" he said, almost shyly. He tried to play his request off as a result of his pain. "I'm still aching all over," he explained.

Ian didn't really need a big effort to get hard for Mickey. Just a lingering glance, a touch, and he'd be ready for him. He smiled to himself - a brief, smug little grin -, and walked to him, touched his hip with a warm hand and pressed close, rubbing off against Mickey for a second before pushing in slowly.

Mickey smiled, wide and blissfully, letting his head fall softly into the blankets of Ian's bed. "Fuck, Ian," he breathed. He bit his lip at the feel of Ian's dick, relentlessly stretching him. But what really made his knees weak was the thumb brushing back and forth over his hipbone, making him thankful that he could just slump into the bed beneath him. "That's exactly what I like. Keep going."

Ian felt a wave of warmth and relief. Mickey made his knees weak; his sounds, the feel of him, his fucking words. Goddamn, did Ian like him like that, sounding almost... tame. Sweet. Still as careful and gentle as he could, he held Mickey with strong arms and turned him around, pressing him down to the bed and shifting just a little, changing the angle of his thrusting and holding him up, not wanting his injured ass cheek to press down too hard.

Mickey let out a gentle huff as Ian turned him around. He gave the boy a cautionary stare--an almost-obligatory gesture as they ventured dangerously close to intimacy. But fuck it, it felt right, and Mickey wasn't feeling strong enough to resist. Not after today, not after all they'd been through. Mickey was quiet, as far as it fucking went. A couple words in the beginning, a couple at the end, and that was mostly it. His breaths came steady and panting, and he stared wordlessly at Ian. The fear of that alone sent his stomach flipping. Fuck, this felt like they were going too far, moving too fast.

Still, Mickey didn't resist, coming up closer and closer on that line. He pushed it, gaze soft as his hand found Ian's arm, touching him. It was neither cold nor loving, but that was as close as the dark-haired boy was comfortable with in regards to expressing how he truly felt.

Ian looked away for a moment as Mickey gave him that familiar look. He knew it far too well, having gotten it whenever he so much as thought about doing something different than taking Mickey from behind. He didn't stop, thrusting into Mickey the way he knew he liked it, the way he knew would make him lower his defenses and show him what he truly felt. It was an extra incentive to make Ian want to exceed himself in sex every time. At the hand on his arm, Ian leaned in closer, their foreheads dangerously close to touching, his breath wet and warm on Mickey's face.

Oh fuck. He was so close, so _frighteningly_ close, and still Mickey wanted him closer. Wanted him closer and wanted him to get the fuck away. Instead, he let the boy stay just where he was, hand squeezing his arm stiffly to let him know not to get any closer or he'd have to stop. Still, there was only so much effort he could focus on the subtler details of this fuck when Ian's hips were thrusting forward, dick beautifully unrelenting, exactly what he wanted. Mickey couldn't help but begin to groan as he closed in on orgasm, grunting and gasping as his eyes fluttered shut. It was the craziest thing he'd ever murmured during sex. His lips parted as he felt it coming, felt climax approaching him rapidly. He couldn't stop the word. The fucking crazy, stupid, regrettable word... " _Ian!_ " he cried, gasping. The name of his lover came out breathless and rough, and he arched his back as come began to spurt from the head of his cock and his chest flushed.

There was only so much Ian could do until he began to come too, cock buried deep into the man beneath him. He didn't want it to end so soon, but oh God, the relief. Ian panted and pulled out when he finished, half-collapsing, but managing to prop himself on his elbows at the last moment.

Mickey was too deep in his blissful, post-coital state to shove Ian off of him as he collapsed on top of him, as their bodies touched and the boy's fingertips brushed up his sides. Hell, instead Mickey grinned and let out an airy laugh, turning his head. Their foreheads touched, then their lips as Mickey pressed them together. He ran his fingers through short red hair, scraping his nails through it playfully as his teeth bit at Ian's lip once, and he pulled away. Oh, wasn't this what he'd wanted all along.

 

~

 

It was almost _easy_ to stay like that for a moment, then. Lay with Ian and close his eyes, sharing a comfortable, fucking well-deserved _restful_ silence.

"Glad you came straight home with me?" Mickey breathed with a smirk.

Ian grinned, closing his eyes and allowing himself just a moment longer without pulling away. "There's more than one way I could interpret that," he breathed with a chuckle.

"Interpret this," Mickey smirked, lifting his hand between them to display his middle finger. He pushed away from Ian, laying properly on the boy's bed and folding his arm behind his head as he burped at the ceiling with a contented hum. "Should'a grabbed another beer," he said casually. "When's everyone comin' home, again?"

Ian smiled, moving onto Mickey and pressing their lips together once before rolling onto his back and facing the ceiling too. "Dunno," he admitted quietly. "Not tonight." His eyelids fluttered shut and he sighed, feeling worry beginning to bubble on the bottom of his stomach again. He hoped Lip had managed to cover for him tonight, didn't want any more trouble for any of them.

Mickey blinked and stared at Ian for a few moments, conscious of the worry and pain he felt at having an empty house. "Hey," he said, slapping the boy's belly with the back of his hand. "Don't get all backed up about it, alright? Look on the bright side--" He smiled and rolled, hopping onto the boy, straddling his chest and pinning his wrists, much like he did the very first time they fucked. He quirked a brow, giving Ian a dirty smile. "Now we can fuck all night."

Ian blinked and fixed his gaze on Mickey, watching his bruises, his lips, the angle of his jaw. He licked his lips, eyes lingering on Mickey's for a moment too long.

Mickey's smile faded as he stared down at Ian. And, just like the first time, it was a mad scramble. Mickey leapt off of Ian, roughly tugging him up. Unlike their first time, they were both already stripped naked, and Mickey eagerly cupped the back of Ian's head, pulling him in and connecting their lips in an urgent kiss.

Ian's lips parted with a moan. He wrapped his arms around Mickey, touching him, feeling him, finding comfort on the skin on skin touch. He sat up and pressed Mickey back against the wall, a hand tangled in his hair as they kissed.

Hell, he thought, if they were going to get beat up for this, might as well make it worth it.

 

~

 

They never exactly _made out_ just for the sake of it, though, and soon enough they were breathless and flushed and desperate again.

" _Oh_ ," Mickey groaned, tipping his head back. He spread his legs, sitting over Ian's lap, pinned up against the wall, getting hard... "C'mon Gallagher," he breathed. "Get it up and fuck me already."

Ian groaned too, pressing his hand flat against the wall next to Mickey's head, sliding the other one down to his cock. He squeezed it once and groaned again. "Well, you're not exactly _helping_ ," he snapped.

Mickey laughed and threaded his fingers through Ian's hair, giving it a sharp tug. "I'm not?" he said sarcastically. He began to rock forward, grinning as he ground down over Ian's cock. "How's that, Carrot Top?" he grinned. "Is that working out for you? Or are you into women now?"

Ian's eyelids fell shut, lips parting to release a moan. He ground back against Mickey, feeling his cock growing to full hardness quickly with the friction. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to Mickey's, despite the bruises. His hand curled around Mickey's hip again as he pushed into him, letting gravity do its job and bring Mickey down, feeling him hot and tight around his cock.

"Ah!" Mickey groaned, the sound sharp and guttural. "Fuck, Ian," he breathed. A faint smile touched his lips. "That's what I'm talking about."

Ian groaned, keeping the proximity since there was no complaining about it. "Yeah?" he teased, moving his hips up quickly, thrusting deeply into Mickey. It was also easy for him to lean in and close the distance between them, pressing parted lips against Mickey's, panting and moaning together. His teeth caught Mickey's lip a few times, squeezing and scraping it, tasting as much as he could.

Mickey moaned again, demonstrating his colorful vocabulary as he cursed again and again, digging his nails into Ian's skin. He fell quiet, small, hard pants taking over as he fought for breath. Fuck, Ian felt good. He always felt good. More than good; the kid always felt _right_.

Ian couldn't get enough of Mickey, no matter how many times they fucked. He forgot the world around him for a moment and it was all Mickey, all around him. It was only a few minutes before he was panting shortly, head buried on Mickey's neck. "Ah, shit," he breathed. "You close?"

"No, I'm not fucking _close_ ," Mickey snapped, though his lips curled into a smile. Ian turned him on to no fucking end, of course, but even still he wasn't close to coming after twelve seconds. Still, it filled him with an infectious sort of happiness knowing that Ian was already done for. "Boy, Gallagher, I really get you going, don't I?" he teased breathlessly. "Go on, then," he said, voice softer now. He fisted his own hand around his cock, stroking himself in time to Ian's thrusts. "I'll catch up."

Ian's eyes were still closed as he gave Mickey his final thrusts. He came hard and moaned breathlessly on Mickey's ear, body trembling.

"Mmmh--ah--oh, god--fuck!" Mickey's words came between hard breaths, moaning more and more as Ian sped up. It was the best feeling in the world when Ian came inside him--a little release all its own. Now it set off a chain reaction within him, and as Ian began to gasp and moan in his ear, Mickey couldn't help but spill all over himself for the second time today. " _Ahh_ ," he breathed, moaning, letting his eyes close. He took his time recovering, feeling Ian's warmth above him. The kid was getting too attached. _Way_ too attached.

It scared him how little he wanted to do anything about it.

"I'm fuckin' sticky," he finally announced.

Ian hummed, barely moving except for reaching out his arm and getting some kleenex from the bedside table. He handed them to Mickey.

"What, no help?" Mickey teased, taking the tissues and wiping at his own belly. "Even a whore will clean you up afterwards."

Ian rolled his eyes, shifting and turning on his back, away from Mickey to allow him to clean himself up. He turned on his side to face the boy, licking his lips. "Is that what I am, then?" he asked, not being exactly mean about it, but not joking either.

Mickey paused, staring at Ian for a few moments before he finished cleaning himself up, tossing his tissues into a nearby bin. "Oh, come on, you know I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly, sitting up. He was slumped, elbows resting on his knees, and he looked to Ian, watching and appreciating his body, his face, his hair, his dick. "If I'd wanted a whore, I wouldn't be here," he said simply. He struggled with his words in silence for a few moments. "I wanna be here, Ian."

Again, Mickey's words caught Ian by surprise. No matter how much he tried, and how much he seemed to _know_ what Mickey felt, it was another thing to hear him actually say it. And damn, wasn't it a great thing to hear. Ian couldn't help but smile up at the ceiling, trying unsuccessfully to fight it back (along with the light flush on his cheeks).

He didn't dare meet Mickey's eyes, though.

And Mickey hated himself for fucking _smiling_ down at Ian, but he was just so fucking _cute_ , blushing all over the god damned place. "Alright, well if we're not gonna make conversation," he began. "I'm gonna go get another beer." He slapped Ian's knee gently and hopped off the bed, stretching out the slight cramps from their fucks. "You want me to grab you one?"

And just like that, their closeness was gone. It always took a bit of an effort to get Mickey to stay close, to touch him at all despite for when they were actually fucking. Ian sat up and blinked, watching him. "Yeah," he said. "Sure."

 

~

 

 Mickey strolled naked downstairs to the kitchen. It was just getting dark outside, and despite his post-fuck high and despite the house being silent, he seemed to flinch at every noise outside, every punk kid rousing trouble, every drunk throwing a can on the ground. The fact that his dad was out there had him fucking spooked. He grabbed the beers hastily and made for Ian's room once more, feeling a bit too vulnerable without his clothes all of a sudden. As he entered Ian's room, he kicked the door shut, tucking the beers under his arm to lock the doors. An extra bolt lock eased his mind that much more. He turned to Ian, avoiding his gaze, hoping the kid wouldn't open his mouth about him locking down the place. He handed him one of the bottles and twisted the top off his own.

Ian stared openly at him as he walked back towards the bed. It was just big enough to fit the two of them squeezed together. He sat with his back against the wall, still naked, and took the bottle from Mickey. He made room for the boy to join him, a silent invitation. He wouldn't mind a bit more proximity, a bit more touching. Specially tonight.

Mickey approached the bed warily, frowning at Ian as he sat down slowly. "Blink, Gallagher," he said flatly. "You're staring so hard your fucking eyes are gonna get stuck like that." He pressed in beside the boy, resting his head back against the wall as he up-ended the bottle against his lips, draining half of it in one go. When he and the lip of the bottle parted, he let out a small burp before closing his eyes. He focused on the feel of his pulse behind the sensitive bruises that had formed on his face. His eyelashes brushed purpling skin as he fluttered them shut.

Ian did blink, but continued to stare anyway. He licked his lips and pressed against Mickey's side a little. "I wouldn't mind that so much," he admitted quietly. "Getting stuck staring at you."

Mickey opened his eyes at that, returning Ian's stare now. "Fuck, Gallagher," he said in exasperation. "You sound like a fucking faggot. Shut the hell up, alright?"

Ian huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. He couldn’t help the anger bubbling on the bottom of his stomach. "Really, Mickey?" he asked scornfully. "Does it really offend you all that much?"

Mickey stared straight ahead of him, lifting both hands, palms up. "What do you mean?" he snapped. Hell, he felt his blood beginning to boil, and had to hold himself in check. "It doesn't _offend_ me, you just sound like a fucking faggot is all. Jesus." And then he said it. Couldn't even help the words, really, though they revealed so much. About how he felt, about why he bottled so much shit up. "Didn't today teach you anything?" he went on angrily. "Or did you get knocked in the head too fucking hard to learn jack shit?"

Ian couldn't take that; couldn't bear to hear those words coming from Mickey. Not after all the shit they’d been through that day. He felt his ears burning and shook his head. "I can't fucking believe you're saying that," he said, staring at the boy. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What the hell is wrong with _me?_ " Mickey shouted, throwing his arm out, gesturing indignantly with a palm up and shrugging a shoulder. "I'm not the one _wondering_ why the fuck my head hurts so fucking much right now! Do you wanna get thrown around a little more, Ian? Because if you do, you can fag it up with another ass, because I'm not going through this morning again."

"We're in a fucking _double locked_ room!" Ian finally snapped, gesturing towards Mickey as well. "Jesus Christ, Mickey. Nobody's going to fucking _burst in_ and kick you or anything if you fucking _talk_ to me. Man up about it."

That was enough for Mickey. He stood from the bed in an angry, sudden motion. "Fuck you, Gallagher!" he snapped, making for the door, shaking his head. "You don't get it." He unlocked the door and stormed out, making for the bathroom to grab his bloodied clothes. He pulled them on hastily and began to storm downstairs.

Ian followed Mickey as he made his way to the stairs. "Mickey!" he called. "Where the hell are you going?"

" _Out_ ," Mickey replied in a flat voice. He was pissed; angry that Ian was a fucking dumbass and couldn't understand him. Couldn't _see_ what he saw, making it necessary for him to explain his own feelings. Something that Mickey didn't know how to do. "Going to find somewhere else to stay," the boy explained as he moved through the kitchen and swung open the door. "Thanks for the beer." He slammed the door on the way out.

"Mick, wait, don't--," Ian tried to call after him, tried unsuccessfully to stop him from leaving.

He stood there, naked, staring at the kitchen door.

He heard the sound of Mickey kicking at the fence on his way out.

" _Shit!_ " he cursed, kicking at a chair and knocking it off, then cursing again at the pain on his toes.

Just like that, Ian was back to that morning. To leaving Mickey without a word of goodbye, with a heavy, aching heart. He ran back upstairs and slammed the door shut, sliding down to the floor and curling into himself, closing his eyes and doing his fucking _best_ to pretend today hadn’t happened.


End file.
